Gaydreams
by K.E. Strokez
Summary: Being a surgical intern isn't easy. Especially when you're in love with an Attending and your place of work is staffed with larger-than-life figures. But my dreams are valid. I'm here, and I can be just as awesome. If I can stop drooling.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm learning to write comedy. And it's hard.**

 **I really liked a certain character on Grey's Anatomy who was only there for a season. I wrote this from their POV, and also decided to experiment with mystery while I was at it. There's also adult situations involved.**

 **Also: #CalzonaForever**

 **Fic written while listening to "Gypsy Woman" by Jay and the Americans. On loop.  
**

* * *

A guy showed up on my third day of work at McDonald's and declared himself King of the Universe. And then he pointed a shotgun at me and lingered on how pretty I was.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice the police when they showed up and turned his body into pink-and-red swiss cheese.

I've lived through that, and I had to keep going to work because: hey. Trust Funds are mythical creatures that only show their asses to those who don't understand that money comes in less than seven figures a month. Or Kings of the Universe, come to think of it.

Residency is like McDonald's, in a way. But in reverse. The patients are the people cowering behind the counter and the surgeons are the addicted clientele wolfing down their meals. I've been behind the real counter. And now I want to be the proverbial client: I want to be _served_.

Gimme an axe wedged in a skull. A GSW to the heart. An impossibly painful but _miraculously-they-survived_ impalement with something freaky...like a candy streamer outside a barber shop. That actually happened once...and I watched _someone else_ take care of it.

I'm a Surgical Intern, which basically means I'm a fledgling addict. A baby being weaned off of Coca Cola breast-milk with curly-fries and a Happy Meal. Which means I have to behave myself while the adults have the Mega-Burgers. While they discard their salad, ignore their coleslaw, and I can't reach far enough across the table to nick something off their plates.

And I'm in love.

* * *

 _It's like...I show up to work wondering if I'll get to scrub in on something amazing._

 _And I imagine her at the sink. I imagine she's not feeling confident about what we're about to do next, but her face seems to light up when I walk in._

" _God I hope you're scrubbing in, Murphy," I imagine her saying. And I say something cool in return, like: "Where do you need me?"_

 _And we go in there and save a life._

 _For some reason we're the only ones in there...asides from the patient, of course. No nurses, no anesthesiologist. Some emergency or another has happened and everyone's trapped somewhere else or something._

 _It would be our own surgical mating ritual. Like we're super-advanced aliens and this is how we reproduce. This is our initial physical joining. Our wedding night. Or, more accurately, the foreplay of our wedding night._

 _And we both save a life. On our own._

 _The rest of the OR staff show up when we're closing, of course._

 _I'm a good closer. An_ _ **excellent**_ _closer. Granted I have help when I'm doing it, but...well, all I've ever done is close. And none of the patients have come back with scissors in their spleens or anything._

 _We'll scrub out. I'll stand a few steps behind her as we inform the patient's family that everything went well, and that they're in recovery. She'll give instructions to some other intern – Edwards or Wilson – to monitor the patient. And she'll ask me to follow her while the patient's family make exuberant noises of joy in the background._

 _We'll be in the Attending's Lounge. It will be empty, because...well...hospitals are busy places. And she'll ask me to close the door when I step in._

" _You're the only person in this hospital who could have pulled it off on your own," she's say while taking off her scrub-cap._

 _And I'd say something cool like: "we make a great team. I doubt I could fly solo without you guiding me."_

 _And she'd let her hair down. Her marvelous, silky hair. She would do it slowly, so the strands could cascade down her back and shoulders. And then she'd take her jacket off...then her scrub-top._

 _Sports bras are not sexy. They're not meant to be. But hers would be, because it covered her. And I would be spell-bound. And she would be inches away from my face in half a second. And her lips would be on mine._

 _She would be wet._

 _Dripping, and getting wetter by the second. I want her breasts: her nipples. I want them in my mouth. I want to mark them, like she would mark mine. I want...to kiss those hands. Those magic fingers which have saved countless lives and without a doubt pleasured her most sensitive regions. Those digits which could tap and curve and soothe and pinch and slap. Those nimble-_

* * *

"Are you...okay, Murphy?"

It's Edwards. And she's staring at me like I've sprouted an alien from my nostril.

"Yea that's nice," I say dreamily.

Jo looks where I was staring. The cafeteria is noisy, and we actually have time to eat lunch today. But I've probably been staring into space while they talked. And they're starting to get annoyed.

"There she goes," Wilson remarks as Christina Yang zips past, with her curly hair leaving a hint of _"stay awaaaaay from me, interns!"_ in her wake.

She's about to do the ultimate heart transplant and we've greatly disappointed her. So we're banished to the wilderness of Ortho for the rest of the day.

I _HATE_ the sound of breaking bones.

A voice sounds at the other end of the room and I hear no other...except what the rest of the voice is saying, two sets of footsteps and my own heart beat.

"My phone battery died, so sorry I couldn't-"

I _HATE_ it when she apologizes.

The object of my desire walks into view. I'm zipping and curling in my chair and don't care who sees. She walks from behind me – every hair on my body (speaking of which...I need to shave) – stands on end.

That amazing golden hair. That white lab coat with a teddy bear on it. That prosthetic leg which no one would believe existed if they didn't see it. _DAMN_.

" _I like to see the lady go, if you know what I mean,"_ both my optic nerves tell my brain, and I drool as I watch her walk.

Towards her wife, who breaks bones for a living.

"That's okay, babe," Calliope Torres says when they're close enough.

I wondered if they stand close on purpose so their breasts could touch. Or if they're just being practical so they could hear each other over the din of the-

"You could try being _less_ obvious, you know," Jo says-slurps as she and Edwards watch me.

"Hey I wouldn't blame ya," Edwards remarks as she pops a french-fry into her mouth, "Torres is _HAWT_."

"I don't think that's who she's looking at," Wilson corrects. And Edwards, with her newly-lasered eyes, realizes it.

" _Ohhhhh_ boy." There's a hint of disapproval in Edwards' voice, and I turn to face her. Her eyes widen when she looks at my face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"She's a smiley grenade."

"A...what?"

"A smiley grenade. Like...someone who's always so cheerful even when they've been through hell? She may look friendly, welcoming. Heck, she has a teddy bear on her lab coat. But _n-uh_. There's darkness in her, waiting to come out. You've seen how her wife tiptoes around her."

"She's missing a _LEG_ ," I fire back, "who on _earth_ would be happy about that? Okay, I'll clarify: who in their _right MIND_ would be?"

"I'm just saying," Edwards continues, "all those itty bitty micro-agressions from the amputation are gonna add up. And God help anyone in the blast radius when it does."

"Plus her makeup sucks," Wilson adds.

"You are such a _bitch!_ " Edwards and I chorus.

And three other tables turn to look at us.

Brooks shows up with a tray full of food and a chair, both balanced so awesomely that I wonder how the hell she doesn't spill anything. I know the answer, of course.

Physics.

"I touched a living guy's brains today," she announces.

In other circles, we'd probably have called the cops. Or asked if she buried the body in the woods, like we discussed last time.

"Like what the hell are you _eating?_ " Wilson seems disgusted.

"Coleslaw," came the reply. "Best thing ever."

"Are you _serious_ right now?" Jo won't let it go.

Edwards rolls her eyes. As if no one in the hospital had realized just how weird Brooks was.

"What do live brains smell like?" I ask.

Trying to distract myself with the conversation while keeping an eye on my love-interest's back. It's... _almost_... impossible.

* * *

 _Arizona Robbins has her back to me._

 _Her white lab coat slowly slides down her beautiful frame to reveal that she's wearing absolutely nothing underneath. We're alone in the cafeteria – unless she likes an audience. I'd be okay with that, as long as it was all women._

 _She turns to face me. I hate that she has her hair up. I walk over to let it down. She doesn't kiss me._

 _She mauls me._

 _In a second we're on the floor and my neck has hickeys on it. She's torn through my scrub top, my sports bra and has found my breasts. I've ripped my pants off, and I'm on top of her._

* * *

"D'you think she leaves her leg on while they're doing it?" I wonder aloud.

And the cafeteria is silent.

Dr. Torres and her wife are looking at me. _Everyone_ is looking at me.

My last sentence is echoing off the walls.

And I'm...running.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was listening to yet another random song while outlining this chapter, so...**

" **That Was The Week That Was (Theme Song)" by Millicent Martin & David Frost. **

**For those who're curious about it, see: (youtube) watch?v=pkX0X7kHpHA**

* * *

" _Doors, floor tiles – dodge past the shoes, strafe about a foot either left or right – don't stop running until you're somewhere with a door that locks,"_ I tell myself as I flee the cafeteria. _"Bathroom? No. This is a hospital: people are always needing to void their bladders. Or bowels."_

On-call rooms? Even worse. Last thing I need right now is to walk in on someone – in plural, even worse solo – having their carnal needs sated.

Storage rooms. Perfect. The doors don't lock, but there's darkness and privacy. And there's a legend about the closest one. Someone was hiding from a shooter in there. And got their brains blown out. It's supposed to be haunted by her.

 _Good: the ghost of Doctor Reed Adamson can keep me safe._

Richard Webber is right in front of me, and I stop. But my legs don't. It's my shoes' fault, actually. And the puddle of (what I hope is) water on the floor.

 _Thud._

The ceiling looks quite interesting from down here. Why isn't anyone trying to help me? And what's that ominous shadow that's suddenly darkening -

"LOOK OUT!" A chorus of about seven people shouts. And then something else comes crashing down.

* * *

"Oh...my...god."

Someone just spoke. A nurse just crossed herself. And now there are hands all over me, and Owen Hunt – the Chief of _Surgery_ Owen Hunt – is barking orders at people while repeatedly saying my name.

"We need a [blahblahblahblahjumblejargon] stat! Murphy? Murphy? Can you hear me?"

" _Yes,"_ I croak. Or I would, if I could move my mouth.

"Stay with me, Murphy!" He's saying while his laser-pen is aimed at my eye.

I can tell something's wrong. Really, really wrong. But why can't I feel any pain? And why can't I move my frickin' jaw?

"Pushing [painkillerabbreviationsjargonjargon]!" Screams April Kepner.

I'm pretty sure a dog somewhere in Europe just tried to swim the Channel.

Now I'm feeling groggy. Maybe I should take a nap. Things are always okay when I wake up. _Always._

* * *

 _She's sitting at my bedside when my eyes open. I have a cast on my arm – and I'm too groggy to tell if it's my left or right. Or my middle, if such a thing exists._

" _Am I in the Peds ward?" I ask in my husky I-just-woke-up-from-almost-dying voice._

" _We had a major emergency and this was the only free bed, so...yeah. You're in my domain now."_

 _So her wife can't hurt me._

" _Doctor Robbins, I..."_

 _She holds a finger to my lips. "Don't talk too much. You just went through a lot."_

" _I want to apologize for-"_

" _Don't, Murphy. I know everyone thinks it but you're the only one who had the guts to ask the question aloud. It's quite impressive, actually. You should definitely come to Peds."_

" _But my arm," I sigh._

" _It's going to be FINE, Murphy." She gets up and walks to the door._

 _Talks to a nurse, and asks her to make sure no one disturbs the patient._

 _And then she walks back into the room._

" _I should be the first to sign your cast," she states as she pulls a sharpie out of her pristine white lab coat._

 _The teddy-bear at her breast looks judgmental as she scribbles on the white plaster. But she isn't done yet._

 _She walks back to the door and locks it. Climbs onto the bed, and straddles me._

" _FYI," she whispers in my ear while fiddling with her prosthesis, "I DO take it off when I'm feeling naughty."_

* * *

"Okay Murphy, we're heading to the OR now," someone interrupts.

"But straddling!" I shout.

"What?" The gurney almost stops with the confusion I cause.

"Keep moving, people!" Someone barks.

The light-bulbs are flowing by, so I assume we're heading down the hallway again. I don't like looking up people's nostrils. I mean, come on: I have to work with them. I don't wanna know what they've got going up any of their cavities.

So I look sideways. And see door handles.

"Are the vertical ones for pushing and the horizontal ones for pulling?" I ask, probably aloud.

The gurney seems to slow down again. And not cos we have to go round a corner.

"Are you sure we shouldn't have neuro check her again?" Someone's nostrils ask.

"Shepard cleared her. She's just weird like that," someone else's familiar nose-holes reply.

"I thought Brooks was the weird one. Am I getting them confused?"

"I am intelligent!" I protest. "You're just...noses with hands."

"Okay Murphy, I need you to count down from 100."

"Sheesh. I did AP calculus in elementary school and you think I can't count down from 10-squared?"

"100...99...you can do it, Murphy."

"100, 90, 80,70 – you didn't say I had to count down in ones. Ha! Smart enough for ya?"

 _That'll learn ya to discount me, you patronizing-mffmffmffmfmff_

They've put something on my face and now I can't talk. Sure, jealous nose-holes. Gag the smart one and go back to your boring, unintelligent little lives.

 _Is that a butterfly?_

* * *

 _The butterfly flutters around my head. It's carrying a clipboard and its antennae are custom-made stethoscopes._

" _That must be so efficient," I tell the insect in genuine amazement._

" _Doctor Murphy," it replies, "you are a SURGICAL RESIDENT. And you can't stay in the program if you keep slacking off. Now GET UP!"_

* * *

The gurney isn't moving anymore, and I lift myself off it. There's no pain, and everyone else seems to be looking ahead at...something else. And I'm curious.

"What's up?" I ask someone in green scrubs.

 _And then I feel the breeze._

I look down and realize I'm wearing like 2 pieces of cloth. And something else has happened.

"Someone SHAVED ME!"

I'm pretty sure I just screamed that last part out, but no one's staring. No one's even budged.

I try to tap the nurse's shoulder. And I'm sure I touched it. But...nothing happens.

And then I look down at the gurney.

I've seen that face looking back at me in a mirror. Granted it was less swollen, and sometimes can look quite pretty. But I'd know my chin anywhere. And that's my chin.

"My chin is in a gurney," said _no one ever_ until I do right now.

I know what's going on. I'm having an out-of-body experience. And my eyebrows need work.

And I'm _ELATED_.

" _Hahahahahaaaaa!_ Edwards, Brooks and Wilson are gonna _FLIP_ when I tell them," is the last thing I say aloud, before they wheel my chin – and the messed up body it's connected to – into the OR.

I decide to walk around. I mean: this is an opportunity no one should waste. I'm actually OUTSIDE my own body. And I get to see how all the Attendings prep for surgery.

* * *

 _Arizona Robbins is nervous before she tackles a major surgery. And she called for me, in particular._

" _You needed me, Doctor Robbins?"_

" _Lock the door."_

 _I obey._

" _Come here and stick your hand down my pants."_

" _What?!" I gasp. "Is your leg-"_

" _It's not my leg. It's something between it and the other one."_

 _I inch closer._

" _I can't do this without feeling you touch me," she insists. "I'm sorry I can't reciprocate right now, but...if you do it, I'll make it up to you over the weekend. For the WHOLE weekend, if you'd like."_

* * *

Bailey's scrubbing in at the sinks. She's in a hurry, which means my chin is probably in really bad shape. I follow her in. It feels weird, not wearing a mask in an OR. But here I am. And I'm gonna be the best surgeon EVER after I get to observe everything as close as possible.

Ha. Harper-Avery, here I come. Okay, scratch that. _Nobel Prize_ , here I come.

A part of me is touched that they could all be converged in one place: the finest people in their fields, to help me.

They've been through a hospital shooting, bombs exploding in elevators, plane crashes...And they're handling me with the utmost care and reverence because I now have a badge of honor.

 _I'm one of them now._

"Was she out of her damn mind?" Bailey exclaims as she stands on the wooden block she uses to make herself taller. "Running in the hallways like that. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_."

"Hand me the drill," someone says. And an icy chill goes up my non-chin spine.

The female surgeon is tall – by lady standards anyway – and her scrub-cap has red blood-like swirls on it. Yeah. Of all the people who had to work on me today, it had to be-

"Torres," Bailey continues, "what the hell happened anyway?"

"She's on my service," the Orthopedic surgeon explained, "and she got hurt. On _my_ watch. So here we are. Saving her life. Can we just focus on that for now?"

"Alrighty then. Let's see how her insides are holding up."

 _Squishy-squish-squish._

I do NOT like what I'm seeing. But I should learn how to fix it.

"Alright," Dr Torres narrates, "I'm about to [medical] the [other medical] using a [medical] so as not to compromise the [medical]."

I blink in disbelief. What the hell is a [medical], anyway?

"But the [medical] [medical] might already be [medical] inside the [medical]. We might elevate chances of infection if the [medical] isn't [medicalled] BEFORE we [medical] the [medical]."

"OH MY _GOD!_ " I scream.

It's bad enough I'm being operated on by my love-interest's wife. That I'm probably going to end up paralyzed after whatever happened to me. That someone had to get rid of my pubic hair and gets to see me coming into work everyday. Knowing my deepest, darkest, curliest secrets. And they'll probably NEVER reveal themselves.

Bad enough all of that has to happen to me when I was FINE earlier.

 _N-uh._

I get to have an out-of-body experience and witness excellent surgical Attendings cutting into my body. But all the IMPORTANT things they're saying have been replaced by [medical] _frickin'_ [medical]!

" _Thanks a LOT, trauma-addled-brain,"_ I growl, as someone rushes into the OR.

"Doctor Bailey," they begin, "we've had an urgent call from the Daycare Center."

"Go," Dr Torres instructs the short woman, "we'll get someone else to scrub in."

I hope it's _"her"_. Meredith Grey is an amazing General Surgeon, and I deserve her. Well...I used to when I knew what a [medical] was.

I decide to watch the rest of the action from the gallery. The sight of my own colon is unnerving. From up close, anyway.

And I have a thing about hearing Dr. Grey's disembodied voice coming from a microphone. She would make an excellent narrator in a TV show.

* * *

"I can't _believe_ we can't scrub in," Wilson complains the moment I walk through the door.

"She's our friend. Of _course_ we can't," Edwards insists.

"Yang operated on Shepard when _he_ was shot," Jo insists.

"That's cos there wasn't anyone around, you idiot," Edwards states.

"Murphy has really good bone structure," Brooks remarks.

I don't know if I should be creeped out or not.

"Hi guys," I say. No one replies, as I assumed.

"Oh- here comes Bailey's replacement," Edwards states as the others look up from their palms.

They're taking notes. I must be in _REALLY_ bad shape.

"Wait...is that?" Wilson remarks. "I thought she was-"

"She's a general surgeon who _specialized_ in Peds," Brooks corrects.

"Oh I'd HATE to be Murphy right now," Edwards shakes her head.

"I think that's the new Grey-Sloan motto."

 _Un...frickin...believable_

The first time Arizona Robbins sees me naked is when she also has a full view of my intestines.

That's not romantic in any circle. And if it is, I've lost faith in all of humanity.

Or have I?

"Hey at least someone shaved me," I think aloud. And then make up my mind to buy whoever shaved me a drink when this is all over.

"That looks like a ruptured [medical] leading to the [medical medical even-more-medical]," the blonde states as she lifts another [medical] off the surgical tray.

"Her ribs are screwed," Dr Torres adds, "you'll have to wait until I pull out the [medical] or she'll bleed out."

 _Dididididididididdi..._

"Looks like she's doing that all on her own," the blonde surgeon states, as everyone in the room becomes super-alert.

"Her [medical's medicalling] we need [medical] stat!" Doctor Torres is shouting.

 _...ididididididididdi..._

"Where's all this extra blood coming from?" Dr Robbins asks no one in particular.

They're both trying to find the bleeder. And I'm surprised that's not a medical term.

"Retracting the [medical] to allow [medical medical] access to the [medical]."

 _Kkkkkkkrrrrraaaaaaaaak!_

 _...dididididididididdi..._

"Oh my GOD!" Doctor Torres exclaims, and Doctor Robbins reaches into my torso and holds onto something.

And then:

 _...diiiiiiid...diiiiid...diiiiid..._

"She's stable," the anesthesiologist states a moment later.

"What did she do?" Everyone in the gallery – including me – asks.

"We're going to need a second heart-monitor in here," Doctor Robbins states, and someone leaves to do her bidding.

And then I freak out.

"Alex Karev, you hole!" I scream, and my chin groans in the OR below. "Did we use PROTECTION?!"

* * *

 **Please review. I'll either update this or "Relieving Tension" next, so...thanks for reading.**


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